


Beautiful Dust

by spetember



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cinderella AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-16 02:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spetember/pseuds/spetember
Summary: Fate had dealt Marinette Dupain-Cheng an unlucky hand. After the death of her father and being cast aside by her cruel stepmother, being forced to live in the kitchens and work tirelessly for her two stepsisters, she had all but given up on her dream of becoming a seamstress. Everything changes when a magical pair of earrings makes her fairytale fantasy a reality.





	1. Marinette

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I was working on for a bit as a side-fic, but had never really thought about posting, so I thought why not! I love Cinderella AUs so I thought it would be interesting to try my hand at it.  
> In this version, Sabrina is Chloé's sister, so I adjusted their ages for it to make sense.  
> Enjoy x

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_Ashes to ashes,_

_Cinders to cinders,_

_Dust to beautiful dust._

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**_Chapter One: Marinette_ **

“ _Ladybug!_ Did you clean my red shoes?”

“Ladybug, I asked you to fix my purple gloves last week—”

“I _need_ them, Ladybug—”

“I might as well buy a new pair!”

“God, _where_ is that little wench?”

Only seconds later, Marinette rushed in, out of breath. She never particularly enjoyed entering her sisters’ pampering room — or so they called it — but it seemed like the two forced her to at least once every hour. The room in question was rightfully called so, Marinette thought, as it was filled with every beauty product imaginable. One vanity in the far corner displayed every shade of rouge available on the market, from terracotta to rosy pink. Another desk, by the window, boasted a rainbow of eyeshadows, and the brightly-coloured pots of powder boasted every colour imaginable, from shimmery, bright magenta to cool-toned lavenders to bright, sunny yellows. It didn’t help Marinette’s mood that they still hadn’t changed the room’s foundations from how it had originally been; seeing the familiar blossom-patterned wallpaper brought her back to a time far away, when this room had still held her own crib and a portrait of her little family above the fireplace. Now, seeing Chloé gaze at her reflection lovingly in the ornate silver mirror they’d replaced the painting with only poured more salt on the gaping wound.

She held back a tired sigh and resisted the urge to rub at her throbbing temples. The _wailing_ , the _screeching_ , the _orders_ — they never seemed to end. It seemed her sisters enjoyed wasting their breath, for Marinette had completed their demands long ago. She had spent two long hours the night before fixing the tiny holes in Sabrina’s gloves with stitches so small they were invisible, and she had polished Chloé’s shoes until they were good as new.

It hadn’t been a simple task, either. Exactly how Chloé had managed to tear all the beautiful floral stitches out of the cloth after only wearing them once, Marinette still wasn’t quite sure; she had even considered turning to the shoemaker in town, but hadn’t the money to do so. Actually, she’d secretly had fun stitching the flowers and colourful patterns back into place to make them look brand new; she enjoyed her time with needle and thread. And with the time constraint, as well as the lack of materials available to her, she thought it was rather impressive that she had restored them.

Well, apparently not.

Marinette cleared her throat and waited for a reaction. Almost instantly she could feel her sisters’ beady-eyed gazes land on her, and for a moment she was thrown off by the intensity of Chloé’s icy-blue glare. She should be used to it by now, after so many years, but the sheer animosity that girl could portray was forever going to baffle her.

Stepping forward, Marinette decided to address the older of the two first. “I did fix your shoes, Chloé,” Marinette said, trying to keep any emotion out of her voice. When talking to her stepsisters, being emotionless and detached was sometimes best. “They’re in your shoe closet, which I arranged in colour order, as you asked.” She resisted the urge to duck her head look down at her own feet, clad in the worn cloth slippers she wore each day. “And Sabrina, I’ve given you your gloves. They’ve been in your closet for days. I reminded you at breakfast.”

The sisters both turned to their closets, eager to prove their stepsister wrong, but both emerged with their respective items, eyes wide in surprise. Sabrina let out a squeal of delight and hugged the gloves to her chest, marvelling at how the colour went wonderfully with her new dress. She caught sight of Marinette in the reflection of the vanity and looked almost guilty for a split-second.

“I think I remember now,” she said absentmindedly. “I thought you were just nagging, Ladybug. Sorry about that. Ooh, and you washed them — they smell like lavender!” she sang with new-found glee.

“I can use lavender with your other clothes if you like,” Marinette offered, happy that her stepsister had noticed her effort, but Sabrina didn’t seem to hear her as she was looking down at the gloves thoughtfully.

“I suppose I won’t have to buy a new pair after all,” she added as an afterthought, sounding a little disappointed at the loss of yet another excuse to go shopping. This loss was soon forgotten as she started looking for jewellery to go with her new ensemble.

Marinette watched her try on a pair of amethyst earrings to match the gloves, and found that she didn’t mind that Sabrina’s apology hadn’t sounded genuine, or that she’d been ignored. The alienated stepsister had long ago found that Sabrina only seemed to enjoy three things: shopping for one, following Chloé for two, and gossiping for three. No matter vain Sabrina could sometimes be, she was by far Marinette’s favourite member of her stepfamily — she might be the youngest, but she was the least stubborn and most considerate, even at the tender age of fifteen. Above all, Sabrina seemed to put actual effort into being mindful of Marinette on occasion — she included her when they went out shopping and put makeup on her and indulged her in all the latest gossip. It was as close to friendship as Marinette would get with anyone in her stepfamily.

Chloé, on the other hand, merely huffed, bringing Marinette’s attention back to earth. “Purple gloves, Sabrina? You might as well wear wildflowers in your hair and prance around the king’s throne room barefoot,” she snapped. Her eyes — a malicious, yet magnificent shade of blue — were narrowed in apparent rage, for whatever reason Marinette couldn’t fathom. “As for you, Ladybug, these shoes look horrible! I don’t know how you expect me to wear them like this — look, why in the world did you add these silly flowers? This isn’t in fashion at all! You’ll have to fix them again, and this time, put in a little effort, will you?” With another huff, she thrust the shoes in Marinette’s general direction, and she had to jump up to catch them.

Marinette eyed the shoes in here grip with uncertainty. They looked perfectly fine to her, but she knew Chloé had high standards and wanted everything as close to perfection as possible. Or, at least, to her own personal definition of perfection. Of course, her definition of the word included whatever was fashionable at the moment. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened; Marinette often had to redo tiresome tasks because her eldest stepsister was unsatisfied, so it didn’t exactly come as a surprise anymore.

So instead of causing a fuss and risk making Chloé even more irate, Marinette curtsied and murmured a quiet, “Yes, Chloé.” She wasn’t sure how she was going to fix them this time, but perhaps if she added some beads, it might help… Beads were in fashion now, weren’t they? It was difficult to keep up sometimes. Despite how Marinette loved clothes, she didn’t have the time to keep up with what styles were in and out. She sighed. She felt awfully left behind.

The eldest sister turned to leave, ready to close the door behind her, when a long shadow that she knew far too well crossed her path. She looked up instinctively, already knowing who it was from the cold aura that surrounded her. The Duchess stood in the doorway, blocking her from the entrance with her imposing silhouette. Marinette looked up; her gaze was met with a devilish smile, painted a deep, deep red that curled around pure white teeth.

“My, my, you certainly are in a rush this morning,” her stepmother’s smooth voice cooed. Her cold eyes, the colour of the sky in winter, inspected her up and down before her gaze landed on Chloé’s shoes. Her eyes widened for a split second, and then narrowed to slits. “And what are you doing with those?”

“I — I was going to fix them, madame,” Marinette answered, her voice smaller than before. She hated addressing her as such, but the Duchess insisted.

The Duchess made a gesture of dismissal. “That won’t be necessary, I’ll buy her a new pair. My word, just look at that embroidery! You always did have such manly hands, Marinette, dear.” She glanced at the shoes in Marinette’s trembling grasp, her disapproving frown deepening. “Well, go on, get rid of them; I don’t give you food and shelter so you can stand in doorways all day.”

Marinette curtsied hurriedly, desperate to get away. “Yes, madame.”

“And Ladybug?”

Marinette looked up at her stepmother’s eyes. “Yes, madame?”

The Duchess pulled out a neatly-folded paper. “We will be expecting dinner guests over tonight. Go into town today and make all the dishes I have listed — and do remember to mind the notes at the bottom, as one of our guests has a severe allergy. Prepare the dining room according to this seating plan I drew out, and do it before six o’clock. I won’t have them waiting because of you.”

Marinette bit her lip, wanting to protest, but merely took the slip of paper without a word. She curtsied again and hurried away, reading the list as she rushed down the spiralling flights of stairs to the ground floor. Her feet followed the hallway behind a wooden door behind the stairs — inconspicuously placed so it was completely out of sight, so that no one may be forced to see the servants enter or exit — until she reached the dimly-lit kitchens. She carefully set the shoes under the table — never on top of it, as her superstition promised it would only add to her misfortunes — and tucked the list into her apron pocket. It was yet another chore to do, but she supposed it was better than having to dust all the rooms in the manor from floor to ceiling three times over. Then again, if Marinette didn’t prepare everything perfectly for tonight, she would probably make Marinette do that as well.

She groaned at the very thought.

“I suppose I’d better leave now,” she mumbled to herself, as she was oft to do when she was always so alone in the painfully silent kitchen. “Better go while it’s still early. Luckily there’s the market today…” Marinette pulled out her coin purse and checked to see if she had enough for the ingredients she’d need. There were a few items on there that were a bit pricey… Were they all really necessary? She knew the guests must be important, if they were friends of the Bourgeois family, and the Duchess liked to pull out all the stops for them as a means of showing off her wealth, but she wasn’t sure they could afford to anymore. Ever since her father had died, the Duchess had depleted not only her first husband’s supply of money, but the Dupain fortune as well.

 _Oh no,_ she thought, furrowing her brows. She was maybe three or four silver coins too short if she wanted to get everything for the highest quality. Maybe if she got a good price for the apples and potatoes, perhaps she could save a few coins…but then again, she needed fish, and saltwater fish were really so expensive this time of year…

She closed her purse with a frustrated sigh. Her stepmother definitely wouldn’t give her any more money for the week, so this would have to do. They would have to eat sparingly for the rest of the week, but it wasn’t Marinette’s fault. None of it was her fault, but that never stopped the Duchess. It was frustrating, it was unfair…but now wasn’t the time to contemplate fairness. Now it was time to go to town. With a deep sigh, Marinette retrieved the sturdy woven basket she had made and pocketed her purse before stepping outside.

As soon as she did, her mood changed. It was always beautiful this time of year. The sky was a clear blue, and the clouds that floated overhead lazily were white as the softest cotton. It was a mild sort of summer’s day, and it was only mid-afternoon so the hottest was yet to come, but the sunshine still warmed her skin and made her smile. Marinette breathed deeply, exhaling into the cool breeze that brushed her cheeks, and started down the path.

As she took the familiar route from the manor all the way to the centre of town, Marinette tried to walk with a skip in her step to keep herself cheerful along the way. It became progressively easier as she felt the presence of the manor deteriorate until she could no longer see it when she turned around, only hills and trees. She swung the basket in her hands, trying to break free of all thoughts of embroidered shoes and purple gloves.

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	2. Adrien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adrien's chapter! I was thinking of continuing with a different perspective for each chapter, or maybe switching perspectives? What do you think? Le the know! x

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**Chapter Two: Adrien**

If there was one aspect of himself that Adrien was the proudest of, it would be his skill of sneaking out of the palace without anybody noticing. Although the first time he had snuck into the depths of the capital city from the confines of the palace had been borne from simple curiosity rather than teenage rebellion — what did the city look like? Who lived there? What did they all do? — but as the years flew by, rebellion became a much larger part of the operation. When he overheard two nobleman of court complaining about the homeless “scum” who would sometimes beg at the palace gates, he decided to pay a visit to them, and each of the “scum” had received a week’s worth of food within the hour, as well as a promise for more food and money until they got themselves jobs in the city. He doubted that the two noblemen ever found out, but he felt smug the next day when he saw them in court.

He felt a little less smug when they bowed and greeted him with a curt, “Your Highness.”

It wasn’t so much that he was ashamed to be a prince, but the detached courtesy he was met with in court did little other than make him feel alienated from the very people he was supposed to commit his life to. He hated that everybody in court referred to him with his full name and title — the Crown Prince Adrien Agreste — and while it was indeed an impressive title to hold, and one to be proud of, it frustrated him to no end.

What also managed to frustrate him were the very lengths people were willing to go to just to avoid possibly offending him in any way. He could appreciate the gesture, of course, and understood where it came from: offending your future monarch wasn’t a position people would gladly get themselves into. However, whenever this lead to servants would look down at the floor instead of at him, or whenever conversations turned strained and overtly polite when he joined them, Adrien could not help but feel rather lonely.

And so he escaped even more frequently.

The first few times he simply used an old shirt and the most ill-fitting pair of trousers he owned, which was difficult considering the royal tailor’s famous skill. Thankfully, he hadn’t been recognised, although he took even more care the next time. He decided to discard his shiny boots for a muddied, worn pair he had saved from the stableboy’s rubbish, and returned his sleek, combed coiffure to the unruly mop of curls they truly were. Most people who saw him assumed he was some kind of stable boy, especially after he managed to get grass stains all over the shirt after an unfortunate attempt at scaling the garden wall. That wasn’t something he’d be trying again soon.

Today had started like any other — piano practice and private modern languages lessons and meetings with royal advisors and councilmen and fittings with the royal tailor and etiquette he would rather discard — when the sudden urge to escape hit him once again. The strong feeling had alerted Adrien of its presence right after a comment made by one of the king’s — his own father’s — advisors about closing the palace doors to the public and building a post where the people may submit complaints and concerns, instead. After that meeting, Adrien was positively fuming, especially after his father had seemed to approve of the idea. Distancing oneself from their subjects was not an idea Adrien was particularly keen on, but he kept quiet, as he was expected to be.

However, as soon as the meeting was over and the prince had been allowed to retire to his chambers after an early lunch — yet another banquet, which the councilman who handled foreign affairs had organised for guests from a neighbouring country — Adrien stripped of his decorative jacket and crown and sank into his disguise. He needed out, and he needed it now.

After he had done the usual routine — he entered the servants’ quarters, scaled past any of the staff, exited through the unused door by the pantry and headed straight for the stables. There he prepared one of the dirtier horses and fled.

It was a beautiful summer’s day, and Adrien regretted spending it all indoors as soon as her felt the warm breeze upon his cheek. How his father could spend day in, day out sitting in the grand throne room, empty of fresh air or sun, he had no idea. Adrien needed an outlet — to ride, to run, to meet new people! He couldn’t imagine sitting still for days on end without losing his sanity.

And so he rode, in full gallop, his mind clear of any thoughts of taxes and royal duties.

He soon reached the very heart of the city, a mile or two from the palace, and felt himself relax as he slowed his horse a little. The buzz of the people comforted him, and the various shops, stalls, and houses looked warm and inviting. The smell of freshly-baked bread and pastries wafted through the air, as well as the sweet smell of summer berries and fruits that were on bright display. Tailors advertised their finest day-dresses and shoemakers boasted sandals in every colour. Nobody seemed to mind the heat that cooked the prince’s skin to a steadily growing red glow as he rode past, and after a while, neither did Adrien.

An hour whirled by, and so did the crowds of the inner city as he reached the outskirts of the capital. It was still densely packed with shoppers and stall owners, but as noon approached, more and more people were retreating to their homes for lunch. He noticed schoolchildren heading home to eat, and smiled as they passed. He loved this part of the city best, he decided. It was not so densely packed that it was dizzying, and he could smell grass and dirt in the air from neighbouring farms and forests.

When Adrien reached a small square, he dismounted and brought the horse — her name was Etoile, as was stitched on the saddle — and brought her to what appeared to be a local stable, where a boy took her with a smile in exchange for a coin. The mare deserved water, he reasoned, and he wanted to stretch his legs a bit and explore.

“Beautiful girl, she is!” the stableboy remarked. “Good enough for a king, I’d say.”

Adrien laughed in reply and handed him another coin.

As he wandered through the little square and the modest market stalls, Adrien soaked in the feeling of being one with the crowd. Nobody took any notice of him, and he noticed everything. He noticed the crying children tugging on their mothers’ skirts, and the young boys playing with a battered ball near the fountain, and the girl in front of him with a woven basket in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. He watched as she tucked the paper into the basket and subsequently took a step on a faulty cobblestone without looking, losing her balance. He immediately swooped in, grabbing her shoulder and hoisting her upright before she could hit the ground.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, steadying herself. She turned to him, eyes wide. “Thank you!” she said breathlessly.

Pretty. That’s probably how someone would describe her. She possessed the plain sort of prettiness you would find in a wildflower on the side of the road, or in the everyday view of the sun shining as the clouds drifting in the sky: he wouldn’t normally take any extra notice of them, but they were always there, and without them the world would be bare. Yes, plain. But strangely warm, as well. She reminded him of the nostalgia in a fire’s glow on a cold winter’s night, or the last golden rays of sunlight on a summer evening.

For a moment, the prince wondered where on earth that rather poetic insight had come from, and quickly disposed of it, deep into the back of his mind. But it was true: the girl was undeniably lovely. Her hair was dark — did it have a bluish sheen to it in the sun, or was that his mind playing tricks on him? — and hidden beneath a red handkerchief. Freckles dusted her nose and cheeks, but they weren’t just there as a cluster, for they each served a purpose, each standing their ground on her fair skin. Her lips looked like soft flower petals, rosy and full. The more Adrien stared, the more his mind raced. Was it possible for a girl to glow in the sun? He continued to study her wordlessly, and his breath hitched when he met her gaze.

Her eyes, sunken with the fatigue of the working-class that he had sadly come to recognise, were blue as the sky, and there was an unparalleled warmth in them, and a depth that could surely never be matched by even the largest lakes in the land.

“Are — are you alright?” she asked suddenly, offering him a sweet, dimpled smile.

“I’m…” he started, and trailed off. That smile in particular caught him by surprise, and he could not help but stare. It was indeed a stark contrast to the tight-lipped, forced smiles he was used to giving and receiving at court. He decided it was a welcomed change, this genuine, sweet, toothy grin from this very pretty wildflower sun-in-the-clouds kind of girl.

Really, Adrien wasn’t usually one to romanticise things — much less a person — but he couldn’t help but find this girl rather stunning, plain as she may be. The evidence of her labour somehow made her even more beautiful. Her youthful face was burdened with premature wrinkles, surely from the daily worries of the working class; she had bags under her eyes that looked to be engraved on her face, sinking under the clear sky-blue; her rigid posture stilled her thin frame, which made it seem like she carried all the world’s burdens on her shoulders. And she probably did.

Adrien sympathised. She must not have had an easy life.

And still, she looked up at him curiously, with a sense of unfamiliarity that he wasn’t acquainted with. Usually, he was met with admiration, respect, or even intimidation, whenever he was challenged to a fencing duel. Even foreign visitors from neighbouring kingdoms didn’t look at him with such blatant curiosity. It was strange, yes, but not unsettling. It was intriguing, if anything.

Yes, that was the perfect word — that was how he’d describe her: intriguing, yet plain, and yet utterly stunning. He had half a mind to show her as an example to the ladies in the court. He briefly imagined the upperclass ladies’ reactions if they could see her; they’d surely be green with envy. But he couldn’t, of course — he was undercover now. He couldn’t give himself away after coming so far, but he’d never talked to a girl like this before.

Realising that he should break the silence instead of merely staring, Adrien cleared his throat, only for her to beat him to it.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, “but I — I don’t believe we’ve ever met before.”

Adrien blinked. He knew it was unlikely, but not impossible. He didn’t get the chance to visit the city much, and when he did, he was incognito and concentrated solely on keeping it that way. Every time meant a new disguise — every time, a new character to play. Even if she had ever seen him around the town before, she wouldn’t be able to recognise him now.

“No, I don’t think we have,” he said, trying to sound natural and soft, like her. He didn’t have to use his Royal Prince Voice here, as he had any idea that his commanding tone would probably only gain him more attention.

“Are you new? To the city?” she asked, clutching her woven basket.

“I… Yes,” Adrien managed. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I am new here. I arrived just this afternoon. Everything is still quite strange to me, honestly.” Well, in a sense. He wasn’t lying, per se, he was just…selectively telling the truth.

 _That’s the same as lying!_ an annoying little voice chided him from the back of his mind.

“I hope you like it here,” she said sincerely, her sweet smile returning. “Newcomers are always welcome, though we don’t get very many. Where, um, are you from?” She seemed nervous. Adrien wanted her to feel at ease.

“Not very far away,” he said, smiling back at her. “I just heard so much of the capital that I had to see it for myself.”

“Oh. Well, I know this isn’t the inner city, but it’s still a wonderful place. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” She looked around the square with a soft, wistful gaze. Adrien watched her carefully.

“I’m sure it is,” he agreed. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen much of it yet.”

“Don’t worry,” the girl said, giving a reassuring smile. “I — I could show you, if you want. I know this place inside-out and upside-down. It would be no trouble.”

“That would be great!” He beamed. A moment of silence passed. “So you live here?” he asked her, knowing the answer was probably yes, but he wanted to keep talking to her just a little longer.

She shook her head. “No, though I’ve been here my whole life. Actually, I live in the manor in the wood. Do you know it?”

That was surprising. The manor, and the hill it was perched upon, and all the land around it, belonged to the widowed Duchess Dupain and her two daughters: Chloé and Sabrina Bourgeois. His father had been closely acquainted with the duchess’ first husband, Andre Bourgeois, before he passed. He remembered it vaguely from when he had attended the funeral of the late Duke Thomas Dupain, but that had been years ago.

“The manor?” he repeated, to which she nodded. “Isn’t that where the widowed duchess lives?”

She nodded again, a bit sharper this time. “Yes.” He detected a change in her tone — a hardness — it was small enough that he didn’t notice it right away, which almost alarmed him.

“Are you… I mean, you’re not related to her?” Adrien stopped himself suddenly, realising exactly how that had sounded. “Wait, no — that was incredibly rude of me — what I meant to say was—”

“Oh — it’s alright. She’s not my mother, if that’s what you mean,” she said quietly, and rather generously, for he would’ve surely only kept making matters worse if he kept ranting. “I work for them.” She didn’t like to mention that it was her own stepmother she worked for, but he didn’t need to know that. “The manor is beautiful, and there are acres and acres of wood around it that they never visit. You must come see it someday — well, I mean — that is, if — if you’d like to.” She cursed her nervous stutter and wondered where it had come from all of a sudden.

“I would love to!” Adrien said, unable to hide his excitement. He stopped in realisation. “I don’t think we’ve even introduced ourselves yet.”

The girl frowned, thinking back on their conversation. “No, I don’t think we have,” she agreed. “I’m Marinette,” she offered. She held out her hand shyly and shook his, much to his surprise. But then, what was he expecting? A curtsy? This wasn’t the court.

He briefly registered that her hand wasn’t as soft as he had expected. It was rougher than he would have thought, calloused and worn, and her grip was surprisingly firm.

She let go far too quickly, but her smile made up for it.

“I’m…” Adrien hesitated. Should he give her his real name? It wasn’t a very common one, but he didn’t want to have to lie to her, not when it had been going so well. And if she ever found out… He could deal with the consequence another day, but no. He wouldn’t lie.

“They call me Adrien.” Actually, they called him His Royal Highness Crown Prince Adrien Agreste, but she didn’t need to know that.

She smiled again, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “Adrien,” she repeated, sounding it out. It sounded rather like music with her sweet little voice. “They call me…Marinette,” she blurted. She had almost said the dreaded nickname they’d given her, but stopped herself. She didn’t want him to pick it up, too — that would be nothing short of a nightmare.

Adrien laughed briefly. “I wonder why in the world they would do that.”

Marinette forced a laugh. “I wonder…” She trailed off, her tone sounding too forced even to her own ears.

The church bell chimed in the distance, singing the hour to all the townspeople. Marinette looked up wildly at the church tower clock, confirming what she had already realised. The line on the bridge of her nose appeared again. She turned to Adrien. He thought the faint smile she offered looked off somehow.

“I’m really very sorry, but I need to go, or the duchess will go mad,” she said quickly, glancing anxiously at the church tower again.

Adrien nodded in understanding, though something in his chest sank. “I understand,” he said. “I need to head back, too,” he lied. He seemed to be doing an awful lot of that today…

Marinette smiled more naturally this time, her cheeks glowing red. “Can you find your way back? I’d be happy to show you the city any other time.”

“That would be wonderful,” Adrien said. He couldn’t hide his smile. “When do you think you will be free?” He would need to clear his schedule or make up an excuse, but he’d gladly do it.

“I’m only free on Sunday afternoons,” Marinette said with a tone of realisation, and bit her bottom lip. “That’s a bit late, isn’t it? You’ll know it by then. I should’ve realised I’m not free all that much…”

Adrien frowned. She only had Sunday afternoons off? Was that normal?

“You work every day?” he questioned. “Is that not too much?”

Marinette shook her head and let out a giggle. “Not really, compared to some other people I know. If anything, I’m lucky. Oh! The time — I’m sorry, but I really have to go—” She stopped and turned to him with genuine concern. “Will you be alright on your own?”

“Don’t worry about me, Marinette,” Adrien reassured her. He hesitated, then added, hopefully, “So Sunday afternoon?”

Without hesitance, she answered, “I’d love to!” She started walking backwards, and gave him final grin. “I’ll see you then!”

Adrien smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Marinette turned on her heels and ran back into the busy marketplace. As the prince collected his horse and rode back to the castle in a daze, the only thing in his mind was his new friend’s beaming smile and her bright red handkerchief.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) Stay tuned x


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